The Man With Two Swords
The Man With Two Swords is an adventure novel by Meilir Brevil about the adventures of him and Taeris Redcrash. Meilir's first work, the book was an immediate success. Praised for it's maturity, action sequences, and deep characters, not mention it's relevance, The Man With Two Swords ''was immediately accepted by readers of all class levels. To make it more accessible to the illiterate and general public, a theatrical version of it was drafted, and the play, also titled ''The Man With Two Swords, was an immense success as well. The plot of the story follows Taeris Redcrash, a swordsman adherring an outdated code of honor and Meilir Brevil, a nobleman fleeing from his responsibilities. Both outcasts from society, Taeris and Meilir journey across the Cryodiilic countryside, in search of purpose, wealth, and a feeling of belonging.'' The Man With Two Swords'' is noted for being Meilir's most serious and realistic work, before his later novels became more obsessed with Taeris' legend and attempted to capitalize on his and the blademaster's fame. Excerpt “Gentlemen, I implore you let me go.” Here I knelt, with my hands bound before me, surrounded by laughing, chuckling bandits. These were ruffians of the worst sort, men who bathed not at all, had teeth as black as night, and carried weapons sheathed in rust. There were about a dozen in total, and each as mean as the next. Normally, I am a wily sort. I praise myself on my ability to slip unnoticed through a crowd, or pass through places unseen. But exposed as I was on horseback, these bandits had quite the drop on me, and I could do little more than protest as I was dragged of my steed, to their camp where I was shaken down of all my worldly possessions. Now, gentle reader, you might ask: What kind of man carries all his possessions on his person? The answer to that is a traveling novelist does. Or, at least, an aspiring traveling novelist. This would be my first book and you, fortunate reader, are reading one of my first paragraphs. Who am I? I am Meilir Brevil. Why is my story important? Well, you’re about to find out. “Shut up, prissy.” One of the bandits slurred back. This one was a real piece of scum. Boozed out as he was, he was barely able to stay upright, and all his friends had left him alone on his side of the campfire, for he drew his weapon and swung it too and fro on occasion. “We want you to talk, we say so. Otherwise, hold your tongue, unless you want us to relieve you of it.” “You fail to understand.” I continued pleadingly. “You must let me go for you own well-being, not mine.” The bandits shared a jolly life at that, although it only irritated me further. “What are you going to do all tied up like that?” “Nothing. I could never hope to face so many of you, and you’ve made these knots quite tight indeed. It’s what my friend’s going to do that I warn you of.” “Your friend?” A different bandit than the first snicker. “No one’s coming to save you, softie.” “That, my dear man, is an incorrect assumption on your part. Had you preformed your banditry better, you would have noticed that there were two pairs of horse tracks coming up the trail. Likely, you didn't set your patrol in a wide enough area, and thus you only succeeding in capturing me by chance, while my friend was away, hunting.” “Hunting, eh?” I nodded. “Hunting. And when he returns to the road, and finds me gone, it won’t take him long to follow the mess of tracks you’ve left through the forest, straight back to you.” “Alright then.” A different bandit said this time. He was older than the rest of the lot, squarer, and meaner too, with a missing eye to complete the look. “Let’s say your friend, the hunter, does make an appearance, what he going to do? Kill all of us single-handedly?” “Yes.” I answered him. No other words were required. “Man, who’s this friend of your’s, that you think he can take a full band of brigands?” The first bandit asked. “His name’s Taeris Redcrash-- the man with two swords.” “Who the bleeding hell is Taeris Redcrash?” The second demanded of me. “And why the hell’s he carry two swords?” The third asked. “That,” I smiled, “is what you’re about to find out.” “I say,” said the first bandit, rising to his feet, “we snap this twig before anymore garbage comes out of his gob! We’ve gotten everything he has—“ The bandit never finished his sentence because, before he could utter another word, an arrow embedded itself in his throat with a dull thud, forever silencing him. He hit the ground just as quickly as he had risen. “To arms, boys!” The old bandit cried, drawing his rusty blade with a fierce rattle of steel, as a figure stepped onto the scene. A tower of muscle, with shoulder-length dark hair, intense blue eyes, and features handsome enough to outclass any knight, Taeris Redrcrash stood before them, a longsword in each hand. His face was that of death, not in constitution, but in that it was the last thing these men would see before the afterlife. The bandits barely had time to scream as Taeris descended onto their camp and demonstrated his namesakes for them. Category:Books Category:Works by Meilir Brevil Category:Morgannic Canon